Kill me.”Thomassa sat up, smiled, “Our Melvin. A sweetie-pie.”“Yeah, and Karl Hoffstatter made a run at me in Kansas City. Police picked him u..., FBI questioned him. Nada.”Thomassa frowned, “Simon Rothstein. Chicago.”I nodded, “First flight into KC.”“Money.”We paused the shop talk for Pimento appetizers. Down home Alabama.I said, “The Meriwethers — Strom, Sam, and Sarah now — have contracted with both Wexler and Hoffstatter in the past. To spread the nationalist gospel.”“Hoffstatter is spreading. He was older, in his fifties, and thin with thick white hair on top of his narrow skull. He dressed like a peasant, Wolfgang thought, wearing old tweed trousers and a flannel shirt, with wide suspenders rather than a belt.Wolfgang closed the door behind him and turned the bolt. He glanced around the modest apartment just assure himself that they were alone. The place was neat and clean, very orderly for someone who lived alone perhaps, but he was a tidy man by nature, as Wolfgang knew. The. More

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